Ashes of Past Memories
by faithlessred
Summary: He was Wormtail ... ruthless, uncaring, a traitor. But somewhere, deep inside, there is still the voice of a young boy named Peter Pettigrew, the Gryffindor, the determined, the friend.


Hello!

Been a year since I last wrote but I found a couple of my old fanfics and caught the writing bug again.

So yeah.

Enjoy and apologies if the characters are a little OOC and if it's a little rough around the edges. A little rusty.

All characters belong to Rowling.

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ASHES OF MEMORIES PAST

He found them sprawled upon the bank of the lake, beneath the tree that James and Sirius had claimed had been planted just for them. Even from afar, he could see them, three lanky boys dressed in plain black robes with the gold and red tie of Gryffindor hanging around their necks, their laughter rising into the air and drawing curious glances from many of the students ambling up the sloping ground back to the castle.

He wiped his hands on the sides of his robes as he walked towards them. Professor Slughorn had made him clean multiple jars of potions for detention and his hands were stained and stinking from the various concoctions that the Potions master kept on hand. He despised detention but he particularly dreaded it when it was with the balding, fat Potions professor because it meant two hours spent sweating over stinking, slimy jars that usually contained unpleasant ingredients that were sometimes unexpectedly alive – this time around, a live jellyfish had actually leapt from the jar in his hand and wrapped its tentacles around his wrist. Professor Slughorn had Stunned it before it had done any real damage but he had several throbbing, bright red welts on his wrist as a reminder of the incident.

The sun was making its way down the horizon as he approached them. They were too absorbed in their conversation to notice him at first, laughing over a joke he couldn't hear, their faces lighted up with expressions that were equal parts mischief as amused.

It was James who noticed him first, as he ambled up to them, huffing from the long journey from the dungeons to the grounds. A huge grin split across his face.

"Wormtail!" he greeted him enthusiastically, making the other two turn. "There you are! We thought you were never coming!"

Peter came forwards, mirroring the smile though not quite matching the same cheeky amusement. Sirius and Remus were grinning at him as well, and as he settled down on the grass beside them, Sirius clapped him on the shoulder.

"So how was it, mate?" he asked. "What did Slughorn make you do this time?"

"Clean and sort the jars as usual," sighed Peter, showing them his wrist – predictably, James and Sirius only showed amusement while Remus leaned forward immediately, a look of concern appearing on the thin, narrow face. "He makes me do it everytime – and by hand! As if we are not in a school of magic!"

"Tough luck," said Sirius cheerfully. "Stop fussing over it, Moony, it's just a welt," he added in exasperation as Remus pulled out his wand and began tapping on the welts.

"A welt that could be poisonous," said Remus seriously. "What is this from this time, Wormtail?"

"A jellyfish."

"That is really dangerous," said Remus, frowning. "We should really have a word with Slughorn about this – he keeps all these dangerous creatures for their poison which can be used for healing properties but he isn't the least bit concerned about the safety of the students he gets to sort them out into jars."

"Don't be such a baby, Moony," said James, snatching Peter's hand away from Remus and inspecting the welts imbedded upon the skin. "A jellyfish is not dangerous. This is practically a kiss."

"The kiss of death," cracked Sirius.

"If you all are going to keep touching it, I think I really am going to die," complained Peter, yanking his hand back and rubbing his wrist. "It's fine – Slughorn said it should go down in a few hours."

"Although Moony does have a point," mused James, sitting back. "Slughorn could be secretly trying to kill Wormtail for all the times he flooded the dungeon with poisonous concoctions in this week alone."

"Not fair!" protested Peter as the others laughed. "I only put in the wrong ingredient because you and Padfoot switched my goat's liver!"

"Not very good spirited of you, Wormtail, to be blaming us," said Sirius lazily, not even attempting to feign insult at the accusation they all knew to be true. "Prongs and I are far too good of students to even _think_ of such a thing."

"You don't think, that's the problem," said Remus drily.

"Can you even think?" added Peter rather cheekily even though he knew he would pay for such a remark.

Sure enough, James turned upon him, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Is that how things are now, Wormtail?" he asked. "I wouldn't, you know – we know far too many things about you that you wouldn't want get out."

"Like what?" Peter asked defensively, ready to counterattack anything James threw at him.

What he wasn't expecting was for the lanky, dark haired boy to suddenly pounce onto him, knocking him flat on the ground, and attacking his ribs. "Like the fact you are ticklish!" he roared over Peter's yells.

"Get off me! Prongs!" yelled Peter, squirming helplessly and trying to roll away but James only locked him into place, tickling him even more ferociously and making him yell and laugh even louder as Sirius and Remus leaned back against the tree, laughing in amusement at the sight of James Potter and Peter Pettigrew rolling around on the ground and getting dirt on them, yelling at the top of their lungs.

Never mind that their yells would bring Professor Flitwick down from the castle in a fright to pull them apart and give them another week's worth of detention – in that moment, in the golden light before sunset, they were forever young – a glorious shard of their youth that could never be forgotten.

How they would have clung onto it a little harder had they known that this moment, frozen in time in their minds, bright smiles and their future sprawled far ahead of them, only one moment in hundreds, if not thousands, that could never be forgotten – how they would have held on harder if they had known this moment would be nothing more than a memory, intangible, irreversible, like smoke in their hands and ashes beneath their feet.

Wormtail stood at the great picture window of his room in Malfoy Manor, watching as the sun began his descent. Its soft rays cast shadows across the room and dyed the grey silk walls, expensive fur rugs and four poster bed a myriad of colours – oranges and purples and pinks. A glorious, beautiful sight in a glorious, beautiful room – and what price he would have paid to be anywhere but here.

He had not been Peter Pettigrew in a very long time, he thought, as he stood there, stooped and balding and far too fat considering the stress and abuse he was constantly under. For far too long, he had always been Wormtail.

He looked down and turned over his right wrist, seeing the faded welts the jellyfish had left him. It had become a blush pink and while Slughorn had not been lying that the swelling would eventually go down, the welts had not completely disappeared, even after all this time.

It reminded him of a tree on the banks of a lake and bright smiles and loud laughter.

It reminded him of ashes of memories past.

Wormtail turned away from the window and shuffled over to the four poster bed. It was strange to be in a comfortable room, strange to not be constantly looking over his shoulder, wary and afraid. He felt like he had been living on the cusp of fear for so long, he would never be rid of it. Even now, in a place considered safe and the Dark Lord reaching the peak of his powers once more, he could feel its shadow breathing down his neck.

The bed sank slightly as he perched himself on the edge, watching the sunset through the window. It had been too long, he thought, since he had last allowed himself to think of them.

James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin.

Oh, how had he worshipped them. James Potter, bold and brave and daring, wildly excited about anything and everything, pulling them onto great adventures that they otherwise would never have dared attempt. Sirius Black, wary and skeptical and sarcastic and brilliant, so cynical yet so reckless, with an instinct for the dangerous and fun, their unspoken pack leader. Remus Lupin, quiet yet devious, ridiculously clever with a hidden streak of mischief, he who came up with their most intricate of plans and put together the finer details that James and Sirius would never otherwise had bothered with, their conscience and best friend.

What colour they had brought into his life. With them, he had never felt so accepted, so welcome. What adventures they had embarked on – there were so many, he could barely remember them all.

And now James was dead and the other two despised him.

There were times when even he flinched at what he had done. How he had essentially orchestrated the murder of James and Lily Potter in cold blood to save his own hide. To protect his own future, he had willingly sold the lives of his best friends to a madman murderer … and, at the cost of thousands of lives including said best friends' precious son, he was aiding that same madman murderer on his insane quest to make the entire world kneel.

Other times, it disturbed him by how little he was affected by it all, by how he could watch all these people be tortured and murdered before him and feel nothing within him. He had seen horrors that made even the other Death Eaters sick, had witnessed torture beyond the capability of human tolerance, had walked on grounds where human bodies were piled almost as high as buildings and the whoops of glee of their murderers rang high in the air … and felt nothing.

He really was a monster after all.

 _Peter wouldn't have stood for it_ , Wormtail thought as he had thought many a time.

Peter Pettigrew … he had been a small, cowardly boy back then. Almost always being targeted by the older boys because they could tell he had been defenseless and, to an extent, completely helpless. He had been absurdly weak … but loyal and always stood his ground.

Being Sorted into Gryffindor had surprised him greatly but looking back, Peter had always had that stubbornness in him that knew the difference between right and wrong – who had, despite being bullied and beaten down, had always stuck true to what he knew was right. It was part of the thing that made him … _him._ Peter Pettigrew.

But then he had become part of the Marauders. And they had brought out the Wormtail in him, the part of him that he never even knew existed. Who was clever, not in the same way James or Sirius or Remus was clever, but clever enough to notice opportunities, to see loopholes, to be able to formulate concrete plans to save his own skin. Who was brave, not in the same way James or Sirius or Remus was brave, but brave enough to take large gambles and huge risks that most people would pale at the very thought of. Who was talented, not in the same way James or Sirius or Remus was talented, but talented enough to muster magic he needed, talented enough to save himself, time and time again, talented enough to read people and slip out of dangerous situations and learn how to manipulate people.

As he had gotten older, the skin of Wormtail had begun to fit more snugly and Peter had begun to slip away … by the time they had left Hogwarts, he could no longer recall ever being the little boy who could not slip into the form of a rat at will, along with all the rat's sly thoughts.

James was Prongs, Sirius was Padfoot and Remus was Moony but Wormtail was Wormtail.

They had unleashed a monster.

And so here he was. Right hand man of Lord Voldemort. The most coveted position in the Dark Lord's new reign of terror.

Wormtail looked down at the faded welt on his right wrist. It was almost difficult to remember himself back then … he almost saw Peter as a different person, a twin brother perhaps, who had looked like him and spoke like him but had not been him. Just another person who had been living happily before Wormtail had begun to take over, creeping into every aspect of his life, sucking the life away from him until Peter had disappeared and Wormtail had stepped into his shoes.

He searched deep inside him for some form of remorse. James and Lily were dead. Sirius had fallen. Remus was surely well on his way in that direction. And he had stood by the man who had been behind all of their deaths.

But he felt nothing.

He wondered vaguely if Peter was still alive somewhere, buried deep within him, banging and screaming behind a locked door he refused to open, but he heard nothing and felt nothing these days. If Peter was still alive, he was surely dying.

Like everything else in his life.

 _Time to finish this then_ , he thought, getting up and heading to the door as the sun finally set, casting the entire room in darkness. As he slipped from the room, he left behind the last thoughts of his friends and the little boy named Peter Pettigrew.

Or so he thought.

Many days later, as he lay on the floor of the stairs to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, struggling on the floor with the Potter boy, his hand found itself around the boy's throat. He looked into the boy's handsome face that was so like his father's it was startling, and eyes that were practically a photocopy of his mother's … and felt nothing. He let his grip tighten, caring little.

Wormtail had essentially murdered his best friends. He had lost all possible feeling.

Until Harry choked out, struggling with the silver hand clamped around his throat, "You're going to kill me? After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"

Peter Pettigrew released the Potter boy so suddenly that he stumbled back. For a moment he stared at the hand that was not really his hand and then at the Potter boy who looked equally astonished, between his gasps for air.

 _You owe me, Wormtail!_

But since when did Wormtail care about debts?

The rest happened too quickly for his stunned mind to grasp. The hand that was not his hand turned upon him. In barely a few moments, he was on the floor of the stairs of the cellar, being choked to death by his own hand, the Potter boy and Weasley boy on top of him, frantically trying to pry the hand away from his throat as it crushed his windpipes.

He struggled silently against the darkness that descended upon him and he could not have said whether it was Voldemort or Peter that was taking the air from him.

The body that was left on the stairs was that of Peter Pettigrew.

In his last few breaths, Wormtail had truly died, leaving behind the little boy who had had so much ahead of him.

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Hope you enjoyed!

I've always had a strange fascination for Peter Pettigrew and the kind of difference from Wormtail. Not sure I managed to convey exactly what I had in mind but I hope it came across clearly.

Decided to write this story because contrary to popular belief, I don't think Wormtail is cowardly or "not a Marauder" at all. On the contrary, I think he is impossibly clever - he hides behind the impression of cowardice to survive while his friends are brave enough to stand up and hold their ground. In terms of whether he is a Marauder, I highly doubt Sirius and James would have been friends with him out of pity considering how ruthless they both could be.

Seriously not happy with this piece but oh wells.

So yeah, hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!

xx


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